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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661621">Remnant</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yulicia/pseuds/Yulicia'>Yulicia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Nightmares, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Thancred-centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:09:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yulicia/pseuds/Yulicia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Though Lahabrea was long gone, the memory of his influence still remained.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryne | Minfilia &amp; Thancred Waters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Remnant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It began as it always did: in Thanalan. Or… maybe it was La Noscea. It was difficult to tell. There was always sand, but it faded between the warm orange of the desert and the cool yellow of Costa Sol’s beaches, glittering as a kaleidoscope beneath ever shifting lights. There was a stream nearby - or perhaps it could have been the ocean - bubbling in his ears. There was both grass beneath his feet and nothing there at all, his toes feeling everything and nothing, left hazily numb in his sandals. </p><p>Thancred could feel the warm sun against his skin, the rays caressing him unassumingly, dancing along his face. It was a comfort to see the sun above, radiant and pure. </p><p>There is a woman nearby, just past the nearest cluster of rocks. She weeps, and it plays on his heartstrings as easily as a bard would pluck upon a fiddle. He wants to go to her, to dry her tears and fix her problems. He wanted to, and so he did. </p><p>Thancred made his way to the other side of the rocks, but found nothing but an empty dress laying in a heap upon the group. It might have once been white, but now it was browned with mud and dirt. If he squinted, he could almost see that it's true colour, hidden beneath the glamour, was black. </p><p>A crystal gleams from the pile of fabric and he feels himself drawn to it, unable to look away. It buries into his heart more strongly than any man or maiden ever had, and calls to him with a song stronger than even the most powerful siren. The crystal pulses - <em> radiates - </em>darkness, but he’s so enraptured that he barely notices. </p><p>He reaches out and grabs the crystal. It feels cool in his hand. </p><p><em> Got you, </em>a voice whispers by his ear, and he can hear the smirk that accompanies it. He can feel eyes on his back. It sends a chill down his spine. </p><p>Thancred suddenly drops the crystal as though it has burned him. </p><p>In an instant the sky blackens to night and his vision is filled with an ashen mist. Red swirls by his temples, and he can feel hands on his back. The darkness pools at his feet, twisting and winding along his calves and then creeping up onto his thighs, bleeding up to his stomach, clawing onto his shoulders and whispering along his neck just to bury itself in the base of his skull. </p><p>It burns. It <em> hurts </em>. Thancred clutches his head, doubling over as the sensation of his brain being squeezed emanates through his being. </p><p><em> Thancred Waters, </em> the voice calls. It’s closer now, speaking at though it was his own heart pounding in his chest. <em> You and your Scion accomplices have grown much too curious for my liking. You shall be mine, and they shall never know. </em></p><p>Invisible bindings halt the movement of his hands, and though he wants to scream he knows he can’t as he feels the mist sliding tightly around his neck, leaving him gasping for air. Thancred tries to move but he cannot. He is trapped, and he can’t even see what manner of creature has done it. </p><p>He knows he is going to feel quite foolish when—if—-he gets out of these bindings. Of course a strange crystal would lead to something like this. He should have known. He should have <em> known.  </em></p><p><em> Cease your struggling, </em> the voice calls.  <em> It is futile. You are already mine.  </em></p><p>Thancred knows their words are true, but it does not make him fight them any less. He feels the touch of an Ascian on his skin, and is filled with dread. What were they going to do to him?</p><p>
  <em> You are being quite irritating. Let me in.  </em>
</p><p>Something inside of him snaps, like a wall crumbling to dust. He wants to cry out but instead he is silenced. Thancred feels his consciousness begin to drift, similar to the feeling of falling asleep but <em> wrong. </em>He can’t hold on anymore. He can’t. He can’t he can’t—</p><p>“Thancred.”</p><p>More voices. Has the Ascian already won? </p><p>“Thancred…!” </p><p>Thancred suddenly startles awake, wild and on alert. He reaches for his gunblade, and is surprised when his hands move on their own accord. The surprise shocks him out of his stupor and he blinks, finding himself not in Thanalan or La Noscea, but in Ahm Araeng. He isn’t even in Eorzea anymore. </p><p>He blinks and finds Ryne looking down at him with growing concern, her eyes (soft blue-grey, not the shocking crystalline blue they had once been) filled with sympathy. </p><p>“Are you alright?” She asks. Her voice is light, cautious and concerned. </p><p>Thancred doesn’t feel alright just yet, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She needn’t worry about him. </p><p>“Perfectly,” he lies. “Just a bad dream.” </p><p>Ryne’s face pinches in pity. She frowns, disappearing into thought. Thancred is about to ask her to share what was on her mind, but she suddenly darts away, moving elsewhere into their little camp. The remnants of the night's fire have died down into a gentle ember glow. He hopes she doesn’t wake any of the others, but he knows she is just as fleet-footed as he had taught her to be. </p><p>With Ryne gone he heaves a heavy breath, running his hand down his face. He can feel the sweat that has collected on his brow, and wipes it away with his hand. The still-healing cut on his temple stings a little. As he brings his hands back down into his lap he finds that his fingers are trembling.</p><p>Ryne soon returns, though now with a cup in her hand. Gods know where she got it from—Thancred wasn’t about to ask. She held it out to him. </p><p>“It’s water. I’m sorry… I couldn’t find milk.” </p><p>Thancred takes the offered cup from her. He looks at her with a quirked brow. “Milk? Whatever do you need milk for?” </p><p>“It’s good for bad dreams, isn’t it? Urianger used to do this for me when we stayed with him in Il Mheg. It was sheep's milk, from the pixie shepards—but it’s difficult to find anything resembling milk out here.” Thancred stares at her. He must be doing so quite openly as she notices, looking a bit crestfallen. “Oh, have I misunderstood something?” </p><p>Thancred shakes his head. “No, not at all.” He catches himself smiling a little. It helped to ease the haze of his nightmare (his <em> memory </em>) away. “Thank you, M—,” he trips on the name, her new one still a little unfamiliar on his lips. “Ryne.” </p><p>He brings the cup to his lips and finds Ryne’s words true: it was just water. He drinks, and finds himself far thirstier than he thought he was. He finishes the cup in gulps, only remembering he needed to breathe once the cup was completely drained of its contents. </p><p>Thancred hears shuffling, then feels a weight against his side. He knows it’s Ryne, and doesn’t flinch. </p><p>“Is this one of Urianger’s ideas too?”</p><p>He says it in jest, but he really does wonder. He knows there are comforts the elezen was able to provide that he had been unable to, clouded so in his grief. It should irritate him—and it does—but not as much as he thinks it should. </p><p>He feels her shake her head. “He used to read to me, but we have no books. I left them all at Mord Souq… and I don’t think you’d like them anyway.” She pauses for a moment in thought. Her next words are barely more than a whisper, as though she was unsure if she wanted Thancred to hear them. “Or he would braid my hair, sometimes, when it was really bad… but you’ve not much to work with.”</p><p>Thancred breathes a laugh. “I used to.”</p><p>“Really?” Ryne says. She sounds a little disbelieving. </p><p>Thancred nods. His time in the Dravanian Highlands seemed so far away now. “To the wonder of some and the ire of many.” </p><p>He watches as Ryne frowns in thought. “I couldn’t imagine you with long hair. Was it anything like mine?” </p><p>“Nothing so extreme,” Thancred replies. He can already feel the dark terror of his nightmare fading away with this simple little light beside him. He knew that she was going to make this world very bright one day—no, she already had. But one day it would be even <em> brighter </em>, yes. </p><p>There is a moment of comfortable silence, nothing but the (newly freed) stars above them and the gentle whisper of the night wind in their ears. He thinks he might distantly be able to hear the snores of the other Scions, but he can’t place exactly whose. </p><p>“What was your dream about?” Ryne asks quietly after a time. </p><p>He debates upon telling her. He doesn’t particularly want to burden her with the sins of his past. “An old memory, nothing more.”</p><p>Thancred knows why it has stirred, and hates the face of Emet-Selch even more than he already does. Of course he would have the power to open old wounds simply by existing nearby. Chaos, despair, and misfortune, the Ascian way. He would know more intimately than anyone in this world, or on any other. It seems just the sight of those crimson masks was enough to set his skin crawling. </p><p>He was glad Lahabrea was dead. It brought him no comfort, but it did make him pleased to know that the one who had worn him like a glove had paid the price for it, even if it wasn’t by his hand. He was glad to know that at least no one else would have to suffer.</p><p>Thancred wishes it got easier with time, and in some respects it did. With the Scions by his side he grew to blame himself less, but that did not make the memories fade. Instead, they had gradually grown clearer as that purple mist cleared from his mind. He remembered the hands on his back. He remembered the darkness filling every cell in his body, a gargantuan force nigh splitting him apart at the seems. </p><p>He barely remembers the bruises anymore, though. The relief of waking up remained, but the hurt was gone. That alone was freeing. </p><p>Thancred wishes Minfilia were here to see him. He wishes he could talk to her one last time just to say, <em> Look. I’m better now.  </em></p><p>But he knows she’s gone, and she’s never coming back. It stung, but he knows this is easier—this conclusion. He can bury her in peace now, and let his tears water the flowers by her grave ‘til they blossomed anew. </p><p>The weight against his side grows heavier and he looks down to find Ryne asleep against his side. He sighs. He hadn’t meant to wake her in the first place. </p><p>She wakes with a sudden jump, the shrug of his shoulders as he sighed having jostled her from her light slumber. </p><p>“Off you go,” he says. Ryne looks at him with tired eyes, rubbing at them. </p><p>“Are you sure?” She mumbles. “I can stay with you.” </p><p>Thancred gives her what he hopes is a winning smile. “I’ll be alright.” </p><p>He knows he will be, he just needs time. Time to let the darkness fade, and time to let the pure sunlight warm his skin again. </p><p>Ryne nods. He watches her as she wanders back to her bedroll, eyes following her with that same eagle-eyed protective gaze he has found common these days. He remembers looking at his Minfilia the same way—but this was different. Ryne was not his Minfilia, even if their similarities made him ache. She was Ryne.  </p><p>Thancred realises his heartbeat had slowed from it’s jackrabbit pace, and that the nightmare has slipped from his mind. He feels drowsy again, and with Ryne and the Scions not far from his reach, he feels he can rest easily once again. He should sleep. His injuries would thank him for it later. </p><p>His body was his. His mind was his. It would be forever his. </p><p>It would be alright. </p>
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